


Encore

by tangerine_skye



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Cute music boys just loving music, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers for Reunion Tour episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerine_skye/pseuds/tangerine_skye
Summary: He thinks of the music sometimes, in silences and quiet moments within the chaos.-Kravitz meets Johan twice. The first is a performance. The second is an encore.





	

Kravitz has seen him once before.

He doesn’t visit the Material plane often, he hasn’t felt comfortable there in years. But here he is after visiting Taako, walking through the Bureau of Balance headquarters. He is wearing one of his favourite faces with a crisp, clean shirt and a crimson tie. Three buttons have been ignored so the collar sits open, the knot of his tie pulled loose. Thoughts of concern flicker through his mind, centred on the three adventurers who appear to defy death.

He could easily return to the Astral plane in the time it takes for a mortal’s heart to beat, and yet he walks alone down empty corridors and stairs. It’s a beautiful night; warm with the hint of a summer breeze drifting in through the air filters placed around the campus. There is no sound except for the soft click of his shoes as he walks, and snatches of conversation from distant, hidden gatherings.

It’s this quietness that emphasises the first sounds of music.

It’s soft at first, but becomes steadily louder as he walks and soon, Kravitz realises that he is following the sound. He is drawn by the smooth slur of the violin that plays, a beautiful piece that swells around him, nearer; closer.

He comes upon a room that is tucked away in a section of corridor shrouded in shadow.

The largeness of the space inside is accentuated by its emptiness, save for the violinist, who stands by one corner. A soft light falls over him as he plays, drifting through the glass panel behind his head. It highlights the edge of his figure, creating an ethereal effect that outlines dark curls tied back against the nape of his neck. His fingers caress the neck of his instrument, trembling with vibrato, wrist lax and flexible with clear practice. The hand holding the bow is more taut, and yet there is a subtle gentleness found in the way he curves his fingers around the end.

The notes run together, a smooth crescendo that gradually increases until the room echoes with the warm sound of his music. His body moves too, eyes closed as he sways slightly. As the music becomes more frantic he too, seems to tense. His fingers fly faster now, the movement of the bow shorter, harsher. It leaps off the strings and bounces back down again, accentuating the rising tension. His eyebrows furrow, a small crease pressed between them.

Kravitz is enraptured.

He stands by the door, fingers curled around the door frame, and closes his eyes. He cannot move. Every aspect of his being is entwined in the performance. It makes him ache, it makes him sad - it makes him overjoyed. The notes spin around his mind. A trill makes his eyes flutter, the leaping staccato makes him gasp. When the violinist shifts his hand high up the neck, gently touches a string with his finger and plays a haunting harmonic note, Kravitz feels his entire body tremble.

He is so caught up in the piece that Kravitz doesn’t immediately register the return to silence, the echo of that final note still playing in his mind. When his eyes flicker open, his gaze is returned by intense hazel eyes that blink back at him.

Kravitz tenses, his entire body going rigid with indecision as the violinist looks at him, silent and watching. There’s a pause and then Kravitz offers a small clap, just a few soft touches between his palms. It’s beautiful, the way the violinist smiles; a hesitant, almost gentle thing that curves over his lips slowly and dimples his cheek. He bends his body forward slightly in a bow, his arms flung gracefully out behind him. His eyes are barely visible through the dark hair that falls over his forehead and brushes against the bridge of his nose, yet his eyes never stray from watching Kravitz.

Unease ripples through Kravitz suddenly, the tension from before retuning. He feels unravelled; as though his entire existence has been laid out bare before him under the scrutiny of the violinist’s gaze. Panic surges over him now, fresh and cold.

With the image of the violinist’s smile etched in his mind, Kravitz returns to the astral plane.

 

 

 

He doesn’t forget. He _can’t_ forget.

It’s impossible.

He thinks of the music sometimes, in silences and quiet moments within the chaos. He remembers the way the violinist swayed with his instrument, the way his fingers moved so easily, so precisely. Kravitz remembers the soft flush of the violinist’s cheeks, the passion in his expression, the halo of light against the crown of his head.

 

 

 

 

Now Kravitz sees him again.

He is dead - he must be - and as Kravitz glances over at him he knows it to be true. There is an aura around souls when they first enter the Astral plane, a soft light that dances over their image. Over the violinist, Kravitz sees a myriad of colours. His aura is mostly blue, a brilliant cerulean that shimmers with a hint of green and violet, and the smallest touch of grey. It’s beautiful - _he’s_ beautiful - and for a moment, Kravitz just watches him.

The violinist hasn’t seen him yet. He stands by the edge of the water, shoulders hunched and head down. His hands are fists by his side, anger and frustration clenched inside them and running tense through the muscles of his arms.

Kravitz reaches out a hand and then stops himself. Words die on his lips, fading before they had any chance to exist. He is usually so good at this part but now –

He has been alone for too long.

He alters his appearance to resemble the one the violinist may recognise. The hand that had paused in its motion now continues forward until fingers tap gently at the base of the violinists’ spine. He spins around, fear flashing across wide eyes. It takes a moment before recognition brushes aside the fear and a hesitant smile – the same Kravitz has never quite been able to forget – curls his lips and dimples his cheek.

Kravitz almost forgets to speak.

“Hello,” he says, “I’m sorry to meet you like this.”

The man shrugs.

“There’s nothing you can do about it.”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion for a moment, and his fingers pluck absently at the frills of his sleeve.

“So, you were real that night, but I thought maybe…are you dead too?”

Kravitz shakes his head, pushing a stray curl of hair away from his forehead. It pops back again; indignant. He realises now that he is still touching the violinist, his fingers pressed against a bony shoulder. Clearing his throat, he removes his hand as discreetly as he can, feeling the start of a flush crawl up his neck.

“Well yes, and no. I am not what you’re thinking of.”

“Helpful.”

“It’s complicated.”

The violinist sighs. It’s a long, slow sound that seems to exude from his very core.

“Uh huh. Well I’m Johan.”

Kravitz nods.

“Kravitz,” he replies and holds out a hand.

The violinist looks at it and then grasps his hand gently.

“Thanks for the applause,” he says. His voice is slow and precise, as though he believes that each word he speaks requires important deliberation. Kravitz finds that he likes it. He likes it a lot.

“You’re welcome,” Kravitz replies. He sees sadness etched into the lines of Johan’s face, memories of what had been and grief for what would never come. It leaks into his smile and softens it slightly, but there is something that still flickers in his eyes. Hope, perhaps, or determination.

“Perhaps,” Kravitz says, savouring the word on his tongue for a moment, “Perhaps one day you can play me an encore.”

A soft laugh falls from Johan’s lips. It seems to take him by surprise and he brings a hand towards his mouth, hiding his smile behind curved fingers.

“I’d like that,” he says. I’d like that a lot.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Two days ago I made a joke about Johan/Kravitz being a thing. Here I am today, a fully fledged shipper with no regrets.  
> (Listen, you would also not be entirely wrong if you thought this was just an excuse for me to cry over how much I love violin.)
> 
> Follow me on twitter @ browfan for more rarepairs and screaming


End file.
